The Weeklings
by Ember Nickel
Summary: The 1953 match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Heidelberg Harriers is widely agreed to have been one of the finest Quidditch games ever seen.


1

"Good morning, ladies, gentlemen, fantastic beings, centaurs, merpeople. From some desolate moor in the middle of France, I'm Altair Bundy."

"'n I'm Roderick Plumpton."

"Pleasure to have you with us, Roderick. We're here, of course, to bring you the first semi-final of this European Cup, it's set to be the Harpies versus the Heidelberg Harriers. Roderick, what do you think will be key to this game?"

"Weather's always key, Allie."

"That it is. And we really couldn't have asked for a better start; clear skies and no real wind to speak of. Looks like the captains are shaking hands..."

On the pitch, Rudolf Brand glanced over his opponents. They were all skillful players, of course, to have gotten that far, and he hadn't prepared his team lightly. Dagmar would have a real test, seeking the Snitch; that Griffiths looked like a fast flier. Still, at the end of the day, the Harriers' strength seemed to have the edge. "Good luck," he smiled chivalrously, shaking Gwendolyn Morgan's hand.

"Don't patronize me," she hissed.

Stunned, Brand stepped backward and grasped his Tinderblast.

"On my whistle, then," said Aristides Colonomos. "Three...two...one!"

"And the Harpies and the Harriers have taken flight! The Quaffle gained by Aderyn Priddy of the Harpies, she'll take it up. Priddy looking down to pass now, moving forward, finds Sangster, passes to her. Sangster with the Quaffle, going up, and—oh, she has to dodge a Bludger and loses control. Maura Sangster of the Harpies swerving, and the Quaffle won by Bertram Vogel of Heidelberg. Vogel takes it, the pass to Amsel, Amsel will...keep flying. A Bludger from Margaret Banks of the Harpies is off-target, Vogel will shoot...and it's a goal! Bertram Vogel with the first goal of this match, and it's Heidelberg ten, Holyhead zero. What do you think, Roderick?"

"Hmm?"

"Any commentary for the visitors at home?"

"Ooh? Uh. No sign of the Snitch just yet, I reckon."

"No sign, Roderick, we are perhaps two minutes in."

"Ah well, there's still time."

"Very much so. Maura Sangster will restart play, passes to Priddy, here comes Eleanor Tolipan. Priddy, Sangster again—she's lost control, it's the Harriers' captain, Rudolf Brand. Vogel...Amsel...here's a shot, saved by Emily Yates! Tolipan again in possession, Priddy, dropped, Amsel, Brand—nice Bludger there from the Harpies' captain, Gwendolyn Morgan, nicks the top of his broom. Priddy's got it now, she's still going, pass to Tolipan...Tolipan scores! Eleanor Tolipan makes it ten-ten! Roderick?"

"Yes she does."

"Never mind."

When Elizabeth Hampton had been captain, she'd told the Beaters to try and work as one, and they'd spent long hours just trying to practice being aware of the other's position on the pitch. The first thing Gwendolyn did, upon becoming captain, was take away that rule. She trusted Margaret absolutely, and they had no need to waste time waiting around for each other. As Gwendolyn fended off a Bludger aimed at Glynnis, she smiled in satisfaction upon noticing Sigi Freudenberger rapidly change direction.

While Gwendolyn continued fending off threats to the Harpies, Margaret concentrated on distracting Arnold Falkenrath. This, however, backfired: he was even more alert than usual, zipping back and forth and acutely aware of Eleanor's attempt at another goal, easily punching it away. Sure enough, Emma Amsel came up with the Quaffle, and soared forward, passing to Rudolf, who scored.

"Lovely pass from Amsel. Pity she doesn't fly lower, let the spectators see."

"She's got a match to focus on, Roderick. Twenty-ten, Harriers."

Glynnis sped above the action. Her hands weren't the fastest in the game, but her eyes were sharp enough to make up for it most days. She tried to block out the familiar movements of her teammates, the rapid motion of the Quaffle ("Tolipan...Priddy...Sangster...") and scan for the Snitch.

She could tell, below, Dagmar Vonnegut was circling rapidly, but with no sign of success. Glynnis eased down, slowly, glancing past Sigi and Bertram. No sign of it yet.

Then Margaret sailed past her, looking flustered, as she tried to slow her momentum and return to following Bludgers. With a pang of regret, Glynnis realized she'd been too distracted and wasn't paying attention to the Bludgers. She flew closer to the other players, telling herself she'd stay more focused on the game. If nothing else, she knew neither side was up by a hundred and fifty.

"Folks, we've got a special guest in the booth with us. I'd like to welcome Josy Lippmann, captain of the Reckange-sur-Mess Recklessness. Now, Josy, in just a few hours, you'll be leading your team against the Vratsa Vultures in the other semifinal, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Altair."

"Well, I'd just like to thank you very much for taking the time to stop by and visit with us."

"You're welcome!"

"Any thoughts on today's match so far?"

"It is a good match, today."

"Yes, no clear leader so far. Slight edge to the Harriers, by the way, it's sixty to fifty but still very much anyone's game. Josy, if you win today, is there one of these teams that you'd rather face in the final?"

"No...they both will hard teams, both will be hard."

"All right. Well, thank you very much for coming by, and best of luck in your match!"

"Thank you."

"It's the Heidelberg Harriers sixty and the Holyhead Harpies fifty, here in the abject middle of nowhere. No sign of the Snitch so far, Vonnegut's circling the Harpies' goalposts while Griffiths looking down from above the action. It's Maura Sangster of Holyhead with the Quaffle, dodges a Bludger there from Emil Kolbe."

Unlike Gwendolyn and Margaret, Sigi and Emil had never had a captain tell them to work more as a team. They really couldn't have; Emil had only recently been signed from the Cottbus Champions. Instead, they too split up and each looked for their own way to throw off the Harpies' game. Whacking a Bludger towards Eleanor, flanking Rudolf as he zoomed towards the goal, or simply protecting Dagmar, each of them knew exactly the right place to be.

_Both_ of them did.

"Morgan finds a Bludger, sends it at Vonnegut. Here comes Freudenberger to intercept it, and here's Kolbe, they...almost collide! Good reflexes from Freudenberger to veer away before a nasty three-way collision, and Vonnegut seems a little dazed now but she looks okay."

"Kolbe should've known better. Huh, back in my day, we didn't transfer for such exorbitant fees."

"And we're still tied at a hundred points apiece."

Emily tried to hide a smile as she saw a green blur whiz past. It was Glynnis, of course, on her way to catch the Snitch and win. Or so, at least, Emily hoped.

She was hardly close to any of her teammates, but Glynnis perhaps meant the most to her. It wasn't anything about how the witch behaved off the field, though she was polite, but her ability to, as if effortlessly, _control_ the game. One dive from Glynnis and the game would be over, a hundred and fifty points secured for the Harpies. When the matches were long, and the scores climbed high, that assurance helped Emily keep going no matter how inept she felt.

And she would need all the help she could get.

"Brand...Vogel...Amsel. Brand again, dodges a Bludger from Banks, she'll be angry about that one. Brand throws to Amsel, Amsel—scores! One ninety to one seventy, Harriers still in the lead."

"Nice power from that throw, she was barely in the scoring area. I didn't think it'd go in."

Gwendolyn didn't want to be the first to call for a timeout. Once in a while, Rudolf would glance over at her, but she never seemed to notice. So he pressed on, though tiring himself.

It was when he saw the glazed look come over Dagmar's eyes he knew they had to stop. But first, there was the minor matter of another Harpies attack to fend off; he waited until Maura had thrown the Quaffle too far to the left before signaling Aristides, who quickly blew the whistle.

They flew to the pitch; not elegantly, not triumphantly, but exhausted.

"Colonomos signals time, and both teams taking a well-deserved break. It's the Heidelberg Harriers 210, Holyhead Harpies 180, this is just a timeout."

"Yeah, and you can hear applause from the fans in the stands. And the buffoons who can't tell a Silver Arrow from an Appleby Arrow but are here because they can afford the tickets."

"Now, now, Roderick, that's a little harsh."

"Aye, you're right, Appleby's arrows _are_ silver. Colonomos in no hurry to get things started, we could be in for a long day."

As the players took off again, Maura wondered whether a timeout had really been a good idea. In the air, they'd been exhilarated, able to fly on without worrying about the time. Pausing even briefly had made her realize how exhausted she really was, and the other players seemed just as bad off.

But that was why they had teammates. When a Bludger from Emil soared too close, she could relay to Eleanor; when Arnold came out to block Eleanor's shot, she could pass to Aderyn, and when Dagmar was interfering with the flow of play, Aderyn tossed the Quaffle back to Maura, who scored for the Harpies' twentieth goal of the game.

She tried not to think about how Glynnis didn't really have that luxury.

"It's Harriers 250, Harpies 230, and we've only just now had our first foul of the match! Can you believe it, Roderick?"

"Aye, it just happened."

"Sangster and Tolipan penalized for Stooging, Tolipan's goal is discounted and Amsel will take the penalty. She approaches...goes to her right. Yates can't get it, and it's 260-230."

Every once in a while, Emma realized that she was playing a team composed entirely of witches. It had seemed more an oddity than anything, trying to prepare for the match. Traditions were all well and good, but deliberately excluding half the magical population from the teams just felt like hindering yourself for no reason.

Once play began, however, everything she'd practiced seemed to fade from her mind. Only the actual flying patterns she'd practiced too many times for her body to forget remained, and she was hardly conscious of the passes, the dodges, the drives towards goal. So, once in a while, she'd realize that the Harpies were all witches. She'd wonder why they did that, then blink, and focus on the game again.

"No sign of the Snitch yet, eh, Roderick? Roderick? Roderick!"

A _Daily Prophet_ reporter nudged Altair. "Think he's gone to the bathroom, mate."

"Well, there's a pity."

Glynnis was just scanning the whole pitch from her broom. Slowly, keenly, she glanced from ground to sky and near to far, intently focused on locating the Snitch.

It was infuriating. That look of concentration almost suggested that she'd _seen_ the thing, and it sometimes looked like she was zooming forwards. It was Dagmar, of course, who was flying in the opposite direction, and Glynnis who remained where she was.

It seemed so inefficient of a strategy, and yet, it was no better than what she herself had accomplished. No matter how much she circled, how high she climbed or how quickly she pivoted, the Snitch remained out of sight.

And Glynnis could just _sit_ there and get just as far.

But brooding wouldn't help. Sighing, Dagmar turned towards the far goalposts and zoomed off again.

"And...yes, that'll be a penalty. Bertram Vogel of the Harriers, taken to task for Blurting Priddy. She'll take the shot herself...and scores! Falkenrath was completely going the wrong way, it's Harriers 300, Harpies 290 now after a penalty scored by Aderyn Priddy."

It was getting dark. Arnold wasn't very tired—he'd had less to do than most of his teammates—but the simple fact of the matter was, it was hard to _see_. What was he supposed to do? "Lumos" didn't seem particularly useful; it could prove more humiliating than helpful.

At least his Harpy counterpart didn't seem to be faring much better. Arnold smiled as Rudolf received a pass, flew up, shook off a Bludger, and scored.

Well, it looked like Rudolf from that end of the field.

"Well, fans, we're approaching the eleven-hour mark of this match, and what a day it's been so far. I'd have to say the Harriers have looked just a hair stronger throughout, but it's still very much anyone's match, eh Roderick?"

"It ain't anyone's, Allie, it ain't yours or mine, it's those lasses' and lads' out there."

"More brilliance from Roderick Plumpton, there. And...the sun's continuing to set. Colomonos has...what in blazes is he up to?"

"He's flying around the pitch, making a big loop."

"That he is. And...oh, my! It's an experimental charm, but quite effective, there's a glow above the stadium to let the players—and fans!—see. Game on!"

"You can't go shining the whole stadium like that, the Muggles will see."

"Given that we are desolately far from any pretense of civilization, Roderick, forgive me for not being entirely concerned. Priddy with the Quaffle, dodges a Bludger, over to Sangster, shoots—saved by Arnold Falkenrath!"

Gwendolyn noted the instant the clock ticked to 11:00. At last, they had the right to land for two hours. To go home and look for food, or try to sleep.

She did nothing.

It was 11:07 when Rudolf signaled Aristides, 11:08 when the whistle blew. That time, the applause began even before they touched ground; the fans knew that they were witnessing something spectacular. The claps were both a message of congratulations and the hope that it would keep going.

"And with that, we'll adjourn for two hours. Thanks for staying awake with us!"

"And what a half a day it's been on the pitch! Well, above the pitch, I s'pose. I'm no scholar."

"No harm done, Roderick."

The Harriers had prepared for that eventuality; in the locker room, there was a large crate of food, magically kept cool. As a reserve, Rudolf had seen the Harriers and the Potsdam Phoenixes play a seventeen-hour match, and had prepared ever since for a long timeout.

They ate in silence, too tired to do anything but gulp down food. Many of them had given him a hard time about preparing the food, week in and week out (Emma was especially bad), but not even his face seemed to tell them that he had told them so. He, too, was just grateful he had planned ahead.

The Harpies, however, had no such foresight. Gwendolyn had just suggested that they get some sleep. But they were too nervous and wound-up to do so, so she suggested merely that they Apparate to get food, but "_keep track of the time!_"

This, too, proved more difficult than it sounded. They were who they were, after all, because of their talents on brooms—they didn't _need_ to hone their skills at another way of transportation. Any one of them could easily have Apparated, say, from their homes to the pitch on which they practiced. But crossing the English Channel, after having flown for twelve straight hours, represented a more formidable challenge.

Nobody wanted to talk strategy, so they lay back and tried futilely, once again, to sleep. Every once in a while, Gwendolyn would start, fearing they were too late, and return to the pitch to find that, in fact, it had only been fifteen minutes since her last venture out there. After the third time, she Conjured a clock, and charmed it to sound at one in the morning.

They still had eight minutes, but it took little effort to rouse the other Harpies. They quietly walked onto the field. Gwendolyn shivered; the referee's spell had brought light to the stadium, but it was still cold.

The Harriers joined them moments later, and both teams moved to the center of the pitch. "Morning," Rudolf said with what seemed to be a smile.

Gwendolyn nodded politely. "Morning."

Aristides blew his whistle. It was 1:08 in the morning, the pitch still bathed in the otherworldly light, and they slowly pushed off the ground.

"Folks, if you'll excuse me just one moment, there's an odd snoring noise coming from the other microphone, we do apologize for the technical difficulties and we look forward to resuming our commentary very, very soon..."


End file.
